


The Landlady: A Gay Parody

by Choking_Noises



Series: Halloween 2017 [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, SK, Scary situation, The Landlady, cyanide - Freeform, rhoad dahl, scary story, whatecer, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 10:30:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12579736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Choking_Noises/pseuds/Choking_Noises
Summary: Greg and Mycroft check in at a creepy bed and breakfast. Everything goes downhill from there. (based off of “the landlady” short story I read in ELA)





	The Landlady: A Gay Parody

**Author's Note:**

> here is the actual story if you would like to read it : 
> 
>  
> 
> https://www.teachingenglish.org.uk/sites/teacheng/files/landlady_text.pdf

Mycroft was into the finer things. He enjoyed fancy hotels with five star room service and beautiful decor. He was not one for a bed and breakfast.

And Greg knew this about him, he knew Mycroft would shudder at the thought of actual hospitality, but he was determined. Determined to add a couple ounces of humanity into Mycroft’s stubborn mindset.

Greg opened up his mouth and went to say something encouraging to Mycroft, who cut him off.

“Nothing you can say will make me enjoy this anymore than I’m already not. Nothing,” Mycroft huffed as he grabbed their suitcases from the trunk,. “But you wanted to go out for a weekend.”

“And I wanted it to be about me,” Greg smirked.

“And we’re doing this,.” Mycroft lifted the luggage and locked the car. He shot Greg an annoyed, scrunched expression then proceeded to the front door of the dreadful bed and breakfast. Greg was so excited.

“No guards, no work, no stress,” Greg skipped next to Mycroft.

“No Sherlock,.” Mycroft and him had reached the door, his finger resting on the bell. He smiled at Greg.

“Exactly,” Greg smiled back.

The ringing of the obnoxious bell buzzed, and almost immediately, so quickly that Mycroft still had his arm raised, a lady appeared at the door. She had swung the door open with such excitement, her smile glowing and her cheeks warming.

“Hello!” She greeted, a wrinkly hand reaching towards them. “Oh, please, please come inside!” She gestured an inwards motion. They both stepped inside with awkward tension and glared at one another. She was sweet. She was old. She was everything Greg had wished for. The look on Mycroft’s was closer to a I’m going to fucking kill myself if we don’t leave right now kinda face. Encouraging. “Oh let me get your coats for you.”

Greg watched as Mycroft cringed from the physical contact of the old lady’s fingers touching his shoulders.

I hate this. Mycroft mouthed to Greg, who willingly let the woman take his coat.

Whatever.

“So, do you young fellas have names?” The woman asked. Her face was round and wrinkled and pink. And the description kinda sounds like the description of a testicle but she is not a testicle. She was friendly enough though.

The living room was small and sweet. A sleeping dog lie in front of the fireplace, a parrot in its cage. The couch was leather and clean.

“Greg, Greg Lestrade,” He said with hands in his pockets. “And my fiancée, Mycroft Holmes.” Greg smiled so evilly at Mycroft, who scrunched his face with a blush on his cheeks. “And you?”

“Oh, Martha,” She laughed like an old lady at a book club then continued to talk about the establishment. She was short and nice, so far. And that was enough for Greg. More than enough. Martha seemed like a familiar name for an elderly woman like her, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. “Please, follow me to your room.”

As they followed her down a corridor and up a small flight of stairs, she talked about her experience as a landlady. Greg couldn’t devote his full attention because Mycroft was filling his ears with constant whispers.

“Doesn’t she seem kind of off to you?” Mycroft leaned towards Greg,. “She didn’t even tell us her last name, and from my deducing, my fifty years of being the smarter brother of Sherlock Holmes, I am positive she is murder.”

“Elaborate,” Greg whispered back.

“You gave her both of our last names, she gave us her first. That means she wants to keep her identity a secret. She doesn’t want us to know who she is so we can’t report her when we get away.”

“When we get away? What is that supposed to mean—“

“Your room!” She interrupted,. “I hope you like it, you are the only guests on the second floor.” Greg quickly realized that was weird, because there were about three other rooms. All vacant? In the middle of London?

“No coats on the coat rack. We are here alone. She is going to kill us,” Mycroft whispered at Greg.

“Oh I’m just so glad you came!” Martha exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for a couple just like you.” She patted Mycroft on the back and chuckled, showing her sparse teeth.

“Pardon me?” He asked, startled. Mycroft glared at Greg again, who was trying his best to stay calm. Maybe Mycroft was right. She was a little off her rocker. Maybe she had lost her husband or her son or something. She’s harmless.

“Oh dear, you know, I have to be picky nowadays,” She said, like they were supposed to understand what that meant. Greg hesitantly nodded his head and weaved himself out of the conversation, along with dragging Mycroft into the bedroom. “And don’t forget,” the lady called as her last words. “Please come sign the guestbook, don’t want any lawsuits around here!”

They both hesitantly nodded again, and Mycroft shut the door.

“We’re going to die,” Mycroft turned to Greg who was already unpacking his suitcase. “We’re going to die, right here, right now. She wants to eat us.”

“She doesn’t want to eat us,” Greg moaned,. “Probably just, feed us to other people.” He laughed at his own joke. Mycroft did not laugh. He grabbed all of Greg’s clothes on the bed and shoved them back into his suitcase, zipping it up dramatically.

“We have to leave,” Mycroft peeked out the window,. “Now.”

“Mycroft, you don’t know anything,” Greg furrowed his brows at Mycroft who was pacing around the room like Sherlock would,. “If we are here alone, then we shouldn’t worry. I’m almost positive she’s not a murderer, but if she was, it’s two against one.”

“Two against one can easily turn to one against one which can turn into us dying,.” Mycroft protested,. “I don’t want to die.”

“Obviously,” Greg said walking up towards Mycroft, putting a hand on his shoulder,. “Loosen up. Your paranoia is turning me off.” Greg put his hands around Mycroft’s waist. Mycroft squirmed.

“I’m serious, Greg,” Mycroft frowned,. “I’m smart enough to know everything going on is awfully weird.” Greg kissed him lightly. “And I don’t even have any bodyguards and—“

“Oh,” Greg snarled, pushing himself off Mycroft. He put his hands on his hips, .“That’s what this is about, you, you are scared of getting attacked or something and—“

There was a knock at the door.

“Guest book, dear!” Martha exclaimed through the door,. “And tea if you would like any.”

Oh no.

“We will be down in a second!” Greg yelled back, crossing his arms then turning to Mycroft,. “We will be down in a second.” He narrowed his eyes.

“No we won’t,” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You will. And if you want to get killed then go ahead, do whatever you want.” He picked up his suitcase. “I’m getting out of here.”

“Really,” Greg nagged. “You’re really going to leave me here. Alone. At a place you think is dangerous.”

“I—“

“Cause’ that’s not husband material.” Greg saw the pink rise in Mycroft’s cheeks. Embarrassment. The best persuasion.

***

“Sugar or no sugar?” The landlady asked, preparing their cups.

“Sugar,” Greg said, grabbing a pen to sign the guest book. Before opening, he glanced at Mycroft who sat helplessly on the couch. Most of the time Mycroft is right, Greg had to admit, but now he wanted to trust his instincts. And his instincts told him that this was fine. They were fine, no one was going to die, Mycroft is paranoid because he doesn’t have his guards. That’s it.

“And you, Mr. Weaver?” She asked, looking at Mycroft. He furrowed his brows.

“Do you mean Holmes?”

“Yes, of course, Holmes,” She stirred the cup. “Sugar?”

“I don’t want any tea,” Mycroft deadpanned. Greg kind of just rolled his eyes and continued on with the guestbook. To his surprise, he only had to turn to the front page. There were only two names on the page, each spaced out by a year or so. Her last guest was two years ago. Isn’t that kinda weird?

“Yeah, weird isn’t it?” Mycroft whispered into his ear, causing Greg to jump out of his skin.

“Dear God,” Greg whispered back as Mycroft put a sp00ked hand on his shoulder. “Probably just a missing page or something.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Mycroft glanced behind him. “Let’s just split right now, I’ll have someone come and pick up our stuff. Trust me, I’ll make up for this, I just don’t think it’s safe and—“

“Tea?” Martha was standing behind them, a cup of tea projected towards Greg. He took the cup politely and faced back towards the guestbook.

“Don’t drink that,” Mycroft whispered.

“Shut up,” Greg replied, then continuing in a normal tone, “You have only had two guests?”

“In the past three years?” Mycroft questioned.

“Oh, haha, yes,” She sat down on the couch, gesturing for them to follow. “Like I said, I’m very particular about my guests!” Greg was starting to have second thoughts about his safety. Damnit, he should always listen to Mycroft. He’s the goddamn smartest man in London. How stupid could Greg be sometimes?

Unknowingly, Greg lifted the teacup to his mouth. He guessed it was just something to do with his hands, maybe he had forgot what Mycroft said, but the warm glass touched his lower lip. He tilted up the handle, and began to pour the liquid (it smelt of bitter almonds) when-

Mycroft whacked the tea out of his hands. And everything felt like it was in slow motion. Greg barely seeing Mycroft’s distressed face out of the corner of his eye, a big hand making contact with his cup, and tea splashing on the floor, glass breaking with contact.

What a drama queen.

“Okay, we are leaving.”

 

 


End file.
